


The Strength to Move Mountains

by VGal



Category: Shadow of the Colossus
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mid-Canon, Pre-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VGal/pseuds/VGal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Battle-worn and weary, Wander recalls his time spent with Mono before seeking out his next foe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Strength to Move Mountains

The soft touch of fingertips ghosted across his face. They caressed his forehead, softly brushing away the hair from his eyes. The hand was warm and inviting, and he felt at peace with every touch, every… sound? He listened carefully, his body melting and his soul floating away in a soothing melody. There were no words, only the serene sound of familiar humming. It reminded him of the forests of his village; the smell of the fresh warm earth underneath him, and the feel of soft ebony hair falling onto his face like spring rain.

_Mono…_

The fingers continued their gentle dance along his face, tracing its outline and sifting through his tangled hair. They strummed him as one would a familiar instrument, and the melody seemed to echo through his very being. With each cord those lithe fingers plucked his soul further and further from the darkness and he felt life within him once more.

_Mono…_

Had he done it? Was it she? No, that was not possible. Not yet. All the idols had not yet fallen. Was this the afterlife spoken of by his people then? He did not believe this either. He recalled, vividly, the last beast he slew. It fell from high atop the wall and he had descended quickly upon it, sword in hand, until it lay silent beneath him. He was not dead. Besides, he was certain he would not feel such a peace if he were. The gods did not reward blasphemers or reprobates, and he had since forsaken them.

It was then he realized the soft touches and melody were beginning to fade.

_Mono…_

A foggy, yellowy light pierced his vision. The voice was low and muffled sounding, as though he were hearing it from underwater. He squinted his eyes, straining and fighting in a futile attempt to clear his vision. He did not want to lose her. Not again. Shadows hovered somewhere in the distance and the peaceful feeling from moments before was fading along with the voice. He could feel the weight of his body and the dull, throbbing ache of its muscles returning. He struggled to move, to raise himself, like his body was sinking further into the shadows of inky water. He held out his arm, outstretching it to the distant light, but the voice was silenced.

_Mono…!_

His arm was met with cold, hard stone when it fell to the ground. The brightness of the light was subsiding as his eyes began to adjust—shapes and colors were becoming coherent pictures. The shadows, too, had vanished, along with familiar fingers and a voice he thought not to hear again. The looming sight of the large, stone altar came into focus; he could even make out the ends of Mono’s gown subtly flowing with the breeze.

 _‘Twas only a dream,_ he thought to himself, but it had sounded and _felt_ so real. That voice that belonged to her and no other, and the familiarity of her flesh against his. He shook his head in an attempt to collect his thoughts and made to stand. The rough stone scraped against his knees as he rose, irritating the aching joints there. His sword was still grasped firmly in his right hand from his previous battle against a colossus; he studied the limb momentarily, an uneasy feeling washing over him as he did so.

His arm was pale, almost ghost-like, as if little blood coursed through his veins. His other arm and legs looked as much, black streaks and markings crept up and down them like wet vines on rock. He took a deep breath, knowing the reason for this affliction. He suspected the rest of his body looked the same, catching sight of his hair from the corners of his eyes. The once vibrant red color was now a darker shade; it even felt different when he ran his hand over it.

“ _The price you pay may be heavy indeed._ ” He recalled Dormin’s words, and his gaze shifted to Mono’s form just ahead. While his worsening condition troubled him, it paled in comparison to losing her. Without Mono his own life was empty, as if all the joy had been sucked out of the world. It was a world he could not bear to live in alone, would _not_ live in alone. He took an odd sort of comfort in believing that if he succeeded or failed he would be reunited with his beloved. He sheathed his sword and approached the altar.

Mono lay there still, unmoving. The sun’s milky rays shone between the columns of the large stone temple, bathing her lifeless body in an unearthly, golden glow. She looked ethereal under such light, like a goddess who had fallen into a deep slumber. Even the possessive grasp of death was unable to rob her of her beauty, for she was still as fair as the day they had met. They had always passed careful glances and smiles at one another when they thought no one would see. He had never approached or spoken to her, nor she to him, for Mono was to become a priestess and to do so was forbidden.  The elders who communed with the gods foresaw her cursed fate; she had been rushed into the clergy at a young age, for it was the only way to absolve her soul so that it might see paradise.

He was returning from a successful hunt, young rabbits dangling from the ties at his saddle, when he saw her. Mono was picking flowers in the clearing, alone, humming a melody he had never forgotten. She smiled up at him when he approached her and did not refuse when he offered her his hand. They went riding through the forest on that wondrous spring day, content to ignore their duties, simply talking, laughing, and enjoying this newfound freedom in each other. They returned just before dusk and he was content to lie to Lord Emon, the village chief and head of the clergy, explaining how he had found her deep in the woods and Mono confirmed that she had gotten lost. Emon believed them and they continued to meet in secret after that day.

He rested his hand atop hers at her breast and he swore the flesh of it was softer, maybe warmer, than it was before. He brushed his thumb across her white fingers, slowly, thoughtfully, recalling the feel of them against his skin and wondered if he would ever truly feel them again. He longed for the warm embrace of her arms; the way they would nestle around his waist as they rode through the weald, and how they firmly grasped him when he made love to her underneath the towering trees. He wanted to hear his name on her lips like before— _Wander! Wander!_ —and be filled with sounds of her joy and laughter. The forest was their secret place; it was only within its canopy of emerald and gold did either of their souls find paradise. Few knew their way through these ancient woods, mostly hunters, traders, and the like, and he was confident that no one knew its passages better than he.

“Come away with me.” He chanced to ask her one warm afternoon. They lay by the river with his head in her lap and she was weaving flowers into his auburn hair.  He knew it was foolish to ask such a question, but perhaps not as foolish as he first thought for she smiled down at him.

“Where shall we go, my love?” Mono ventured, a playful tone in her voice.

He could tell by the sound of her reply that it was not meant in seriousness—perhaps she believed his own words to be the whimsical thoughts of the moment? To leave their homeland, their people, all they had ever known, was an uncommon choice to be sure; many would even deem such a selfish action outlandish and, therefore, impossible, but he did not believe in the impossible and believed that neither did she. Their very coupling was by all rights impossible, yet she had taken his hand among the wildflowers and with it his heart. Perhaps, then, Mono was simply curious at the fascinating tale of escape he would weave for her? How he would carry her away from the stone prison of her temple; how they would ride to the ends of the earth and sail away into the stars. They would live among the constellations, forever young and in love, where neither men nor gods could touch them. Would it frighten her to learn just how much consideration he had given his question? 

“We would ride to the village along the eastern shore…” He began, thoughtful, running his fingers over her ear and through her dark hair; his eyes never left hers and in them their future became as clear as crystal. He would marry her along the cliff tops there, overlooking the endlessness of the great sea because nothing was as vast or deep as his love for her. It would be many months journey across the ocean, but he had heard from wayfarers and merchants there were many villages in the Far East, abundant in wild life and evergreen forests. They would make their home there. He did not believe Lord Emon and his soldiers would venture so far away from their village, such a thing would be considered dangerous and unwise. If he and Mono could reach the eastern sea, he was confident they would be safe.

Mono listened, incredulously, with rapt ears to his words. His plan excited and frightened her, but it was not as methodical as he would like her to believe. She wanted with all her heart to believe in it, that they could simply flee across the sea and find freedom in foreign woods, but it was many days ride to the coast—too many, she feared. Agro was swift and they could fly through the forest like fire on wind, but the mare would need rest, food, and water to stave off death from a long and perilous road, as would they. Emon’s riders would catch up to them somewhere along the road; their horses were bred for such journeys and the soldiers were well trained in the finding and dispatching of traitors. As skilled as her beloved hunter was, he was no warrior; he could not face well-armed soldiers alone and live. Still, their present situation was no better. If they were found out…

“Why is it that you love me so?” Mono’s response was low and sad-like. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream for all the heavens and the earth to hear. Why had the gods blessed her with this man, this hunter who saw her and no other, who dreamed of their future, only to hold him just out of arms reach? Mono had never questioned her life, or even its fate, not until she met him. There was even once a time she thought fondly of Emon, who had brought her into the service of the temple in hopes of saving her life or, at least, her immortal soul. Now her life was incomplete without her hunter and her soul ached when she was separated from him. His arrow had pierced her heart and she felt its cruel sting now more than ever. His words, while beautiful, were foolhardy, and she would not let him throw his life away…not for her. 

“Why?” He repeated, sitting up this time when he spoke, smiling. Why indeed? Only the gods could fathom the intricate workings of such things, or, perhaps, not even they, and were cruel to bestow such a fate on one so pure-hearted as Mono. “Why does the moon chase the sun or the tide long for the shore?” His fingers found their way into her hair once more, cradling her head, pulling her closer until their foreheads rested gently together. A pinkish hew rose in her cheeks and she was smiling now. Mono’s curse mattered not to him; he was not even entirely sure if he believed it. If any curse or spell existed with her, it was the one he fell under every time he saw her face, felt her touch, and heard her voice. Whatever fate awaited Mono he would share in it with her; he had decided this from the very beginning.

“They do so because they were made to do so, just as I was made to love you.” And then he kissed her, like the tide kisses the shore, repeatedly, softly, firmly, and everywhere she would allow. He remembered that day more vividly than any other, for it was their last time together.

Now she lay before him on a slab of cold stone, smelling of death from where the funeral oils permeated her body. Still, her skin was soft and warm as it had been then and her hair was as smooth as silk when he brushed his fingers through it. He knew she was little more than an empty vessel, but he clung to these fragments of life she showed; while this gave him the hope he needed to continue his task, it was his anger that gave strength to his sword—anger at the gods for demanding her life and anger at Emon for giving it to them, but most of all anger at himself for being unable to stop it.

He was away when it happened, hunting—had been for a few days. It was not uncommon for hunters in their village to be absent days at a time and he and those with him had been tracking an elk heard for three days. It was on the morning of their return when he had learned of Mono’s fate. She was entombed within the Great Shrine outside the village, left to suffocate, as a means of purifying her soul and sending it to the gods. Upon hearing this he felt sick, in both his heart and body; it was a feeling of anguish that wracked his entire being. His fellow huntsmen he was with, some of who were friends, wanted to help him—they did not understand what had come over him so suddenly—but he pushed them away.

“Leave me be!” He cried. He could not stand the sight of them, nor anyone or anything in the village. He hated them, all of them, and rode away as fast as his horse would carry him.

He fled to the forest he knew so well, where he and Mono had felt safe and shielded from the world and its gods. Tears stung his eyes and clouded his vision as he rode, causing the trees to whiz by in flashes of browns and greens, but he knew Agro knew the way. The horse carried him to the river, up stream, but there was no comfort to be found in these woods any longer, only memories and shadows of what had been; he took only a few steps after dismounting Agro before falling heavily to his knees. He cried out Mono’s name, wailing and clenching his fingers into the moist, dark earth. His mind and heart were so overcome with anger and grief that he knew not what to do with himself. 

He stayed there for hours, in mourning, contemplating exactly what he should do now. His thoughts were often broken by the sound of the rushing water; each time he thought how easy it would be to throw himself in and let the river wash his pain away and carry what remained out to sea. Then he thought of sneaking his way into Emon’s temple, locating his chambers, and strangling him as he slept. He would watch and smile as denied him his very breath, just as Emon had done with Mono. He, too, would send Emon’s soul to the gods he so righteously devoted his life to, gods who so cruelly and mercilessly snuffed out a life as beautiful and warm as Mono’s like the flame of a candle. The more he thought of Emon and _his_ gods (they were no longer his) the angrier he became, until one final thought struck him. The hunter smiled. 

Within the Great Shrine slept a most sacred and ancient relic of his people—a symbol of where they had come from and where they dare not tread again. It was a sword… A holy weapon, he supposed. He had seen it only a few times and only during certain rituals and festivals for the gods—only their leaders were actually allowed to touch it. He knew the legends and stories of old that were preached by Emon, all knew of them; how in their ancient homeland such powerful beings—Dormin they were called—had the ability to both restore life or take it from you with a mere thought and how the sword was a means to seal away such forbidden power. He cared little about what these beings had done to warrant their fate and even less about those they had done it to—who was anyone in this world to judge what was right or wrong? He cared now only for Mono and how such a power might yet save her. He could only hope that the legends were true. 

It was frightening, at first, how easy it was to take the sword; one carefully aimed arrow in the necks of the two guardsmen and it was his. Then again, nothing of this sort had ever been attempted; the temple was sacred to everyone and to defile it was unthinkable, so a heavy guard had never been necessary. It bought him the time he needed to free Mono from her sarcophagus. Her lifeless form fell towards him and into his arms; he could not help but embrace her, tears stinging in the corners of his eyes, but there was no time for mourning. If did not move swiftly the replacement guards would come; he lay her in the cloth he had brought with him, wrapping her as quickly and gently as possible, mostly to shield her from the weather during their journey and to keep the flies from touching her flesh.

He was shaken from his thoughts when a great rumbling suddenly penetrated the temple along with a company of voices echoing through its walls, but he was not afraid. “ _Thy next foe is…in the land of blackened earth where trees nary grow… It sleeps in a dry lakebed… A rude awakening._ ” He returned his attentions to Mono as soon as Dormin’s words abated and all was quiet.

 “Soon, my love. Soon…” He promised her, just as he did every time he awoke within these walls, and planted a soft kiss on her lips just as he always did. His heart swelled at how supple they were, too. He ran his fingers through her hair once again—for he never knew which time would be his last—before departing from the temple. 

He was so close now, so very close. All he needed was a little more time and the strength to endure it. He would endure anything so long as Mono would live again… So with renewed vigor, and the warmth of Mono still fresh in his memory, he held his sword skyward.

 

**~ FIN ~**


End file.
